Better Than Chocolate
by NotAboutNightingales
Summary: When McGee and Abby find themselves stuck together during a Valentines Day blizzard, they realize just how much things have changed…and how some things stay the same.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: Okay so this idea came to me the day AFTER Valentine's Day, hence the reason it's late. It actually came to me while working on that other little gem that I can't seem to finish, A Dime a Dozen. I promise that will be updated soon too, but the plot bunnies on this one had some crazy V-day loving and multiplied like crazy. It's a work in progress...but if I waited any longer to post the first chapter, it would just be silly!**_

**Better than Chocolate**

_When McGee and Abby find themselves stuck together during a Valentines Day blizzard, they realize just how much things have changed…and how some things stay the same._

Chapter 1

McGee stood tapping his foot impatiently and tried not to sigh…again. Normally, his favorite Chinese place was so quick with their takeout orders, but tonight was different. He turned and looked outside, gauging the weather situation once again. The snow was coming down fast and hard, and as much as he wasn't looking forward to walking in it, he was thankful he hadn't attempted to drive. His car could do a lot of things, including go from zero to sixty in under six seconds and draw the attention of female passers by, but it could not handle the snow. So he'd left it parked in its space, in the garage that he'd paid extra for and he'd walked the two blocks to the shopping center, which housed Uncle Chen's China Bistro.

"Okay, its ready," said the young girl behind the counter. "Duck sauce, soy sauce?" she asked.

"Both, please. And hot mustard." He replied. She added his condiments to the bag, and he observed as she put in several sets of chopsticks. It wasn't surprising that she did so, he'd ordered enough food for a family of four, but he would be the only one eating it. His refrigerator housed only the fresh vegetables that he mixed in with Jethro's kibble and an unopened container of milk that was so old he was shocked that it hadn't grown legs and walked itself to the garbage. With the weather the way it was, he wasn't going to attempt grocery shopping, so he left it up to Uncle Chen.

He paid for his food, and pulled his hat out of his pocket. He pulled it down firmly onto his head, making sure his ears were covered, and then slipped on his gloves. He took one more look at the blizzard, zipped up his jacket, grabbed his food and left.

McGee walked quickly through the parking lot of the large shopping center, as the cold flakes flicked his face. The wind blew them harder with each gust and as he watched people desperately scraping their windshields and kicking snow out from beneath their tires, he knew he'd made the right decision to walk, even if it was freezing. As was his staple, he observed the individuals he was passing by with the close detail that any writer would. It was situations like these that he loved because it gave him fodder for his novels.

A young woman sat in the passenger seat of a green Ford Excursion, while her husband or boyfriend attempted to clean the snow from the roof. He couldn't tell if they were married since her hands were out of view and his were gloved. It was a force of habit to look for a wedding ring now. It had been ever since Adrian Corbett. A middle aged woman, took firm of her young son's hand and pulled him along towards their vehicle, carrying a bag of groceries in her other hand. The boy, too preoccupied with catching snowflakes on his tongue, quickly grabbed at his hat when it nearly fell off. McGee smiled and wondered if this scene could possibly fit in with the stakeout scene he was writing for Officer Lisa and Agent Tommy. It was cliché, to have a snowbound situation lead to romance, but his publisher and the fans had spoken. He had to write it, he just had to figure out how.

It was then that he noticed a familiar car parked in an area that was practically void of any other vehicles. Soon enough, he recognized a familiar goth kicking at it's tires and cursing like a sailor.

"Abby?" he called out, and she turned around. He looked both ways before crossing over to her, a silly notion since there were hardly any cars on the road at all. Even if they had been present, they certainly wouldn't be traveling at speeds that could do any serious damage. He hurriedly made his way to her car and spied the reason for her violent outburst.

"Hey McGee," she greeted, only slightly happy to see him. She was dressed in her usual bowling attire except her saddle shoes had been replaced by her platform boots with the flames up the sides. Her coat was partially open and she wasn't wearing a hat. The light pink scarf that tied her ponytail had turned a darkened shade of fuchsia due to the moist flakes that covered it. Those same flakes had also covered Abby's entire head

"What are you doing out here in this weather?" he asked.

She sighed before answering. "Our usual bowling alley was closed because of the snow, but we have a tournament next weekend and we needed the practice. This place was open," she explained gesturing to the large bowling alley that was directly in front of them.

"So we bowled for a little while, and then the sisters left. And then I come outside to find this!" she said, kicking the flat tire with her boot.

"Did you call Triple A?" he asked, peering down to see just how flat the tire actually was. It was too flat for her to attempt to drive home on, even in good weather conditions.

"Yeah, but because of the blizzard they're swamped. The guy said two hours at least." She answered, rubbing her gloved hands together. _At least part of her is covered,_ McGee thought to himself. Just then her face lit up.

"Oh my God, McGee! You can change my tire!" she exclaimed, rushing past him to open her trunk.

"Abby, I am not changing your tire in this weather, forget it." He replied.

"Please McGee, come on, I think I have a jack in here…somewhere," she said, searching through the mess that was the trunk of her car. She had chains, a large collection of forensics books; he even thought he saw a whip, which didn't surprise him. "Ah, ha!" she shrieked. She turned to him, her mouth turned upwards into her classic "I told you so," smirk and held up the jack. He knew from looking inside her trunk that she was missing a crucial piece of the puzzle.

"Do you have a spare tire in there?" he asked, knowing she didn't. The smirk wiped itself off of her face and she threw the jack back in the trunk. "Damn it, so close," she muttered. She slammed the trunk and kicked the tire once again.

"Abby, come on this ridiculous. You can't sit out here for two hours in your car. Just come to my place and wait it out there," he offered, switching the Chinese food bags to his other hand. They were getting heavy.

She gnawed on her bottom lip for a moment, contemplating her options. The snow didn't look like it was going to let up anytime soon, and the weather channel had been predicting that the blizzard could last well into the early hours of the morning. She could stay in her car and let the gas run out as she kept the heater on, and then possibly die of hypothermia if the Triple A guy didn't show up or she could go to McGee's, wolf down some Chinese and play with Jethro.

She quickly took off walking and was already well on her way before she turned around and shouted back to him.

"What the hell are you waiting for McGee? It's freezing out here!"

He smiled and shook his head, the delicate flakes still flicking at his nose as he rushed to catch up with her.


	2. Chapter 2

He quickly turned the lock to his apartment door, as Abby impatiently bounced up and down next to him. He moved, to let her enter first as Jethro came bounding to the door and then began the task of disrobing from his wet clothing. The snow hadn't let up at all during their walk, and the cold wind had only gotten stronger. The walk, which usually only took ten minutes, had taken twenty-five, as they found themselves having to detour from large snowdrifts, and having to climb through smaller ones.

He'd finally removed the last of his soaking wet attire, his shoes, when he'd realized that Abby hadn't even taken off her coat. She was too busy playing with Jethro.

"Who's a good boy? Who's a good boy?" she cooed to the dog, as he happily licked her face. Though it had been a while since he'd seen her, Jethro hadn't forgotten how she had been the one to save his life. Clearly, he still loved her as much as ever. _Some things never change_, McGee thought to himself as he watched his dog shower her with affection.

He stepped over the both of them, placed the Chinese food bags on the kitchen counter, and walked into his bedroom. He grabbed a sweatshirt and sweatpants from the bottom drawer of his dresser, and walked into the bathroom. He laid them neatly on the toilet, turned on the shower, grabbed a towel and headed back out.

"Here," he said, holding out the towel for her to take. "Shower's warming up now,"

Abby smiled as she rubbed Jethro's belly. "McGee, I don't need a shower, I'm fine. Besides I'm not going to be here long anyway, just until the Triple A guy calls."

"Abby, your hair is covered in snow and you're soaking wet. Would 'ya humor me please and take the damn shower?" he argued, still holding the towel out to her. She stood, obliging his request, patted Jethro one last time and took the towel from McGee. Jethro padded quietly behind her, but she turned at the door to Tim's bedroom.

"Ah, ah, ah, Jethro. Ladies only. That goes for you, too Timmy!" she cracked, before shutting the door. Jethro whined, whereas McGee simply rolled his eyes and muttered "You wish."

Abby stood, letting the hot water pour down over her. She had to admit, he did have good ideas. The shower felt exquisite and with each droplet of scalding hot water she appreciated it more.

It had been forever since she'd been in his shower. It really had been forever since she'd been in his apartment at all, and she'd picked up on some subtle differences, but his bathroom had definitely changed. Gone was the clear monkey shower curtain that she had teased him so mercilessly about. It had been replaced with a black one, to match the other accessories in his bathroom. Everything seemed to be black, even his bathmats. If it wasn't black, it was chrome, and in some cases it was black with chrome accents. While everything now seemed to be her favorite shade, since she couldn't technically refer to black as a color because black by definition is the absence of light, it seemed weird. It seemed…not McGee. She pondered it some more and then shut off the shower.

She slipped easily into the clothes he'd laid out for her, and towel dried her hair as best she could before throwing it up into a ponytail. As she stood at his bathroom counter, fixing her hair in the mirror, she felt the cold tile beneath her feet and realized McGee had neglected one important item of apparel: socks.

Abby made her way back to his bedroom and opened his top dresser drawer. He would have probably killed her had he known that she was in his sock and underwear drawer, but they were friends. She justified it further by telling herself that it wasn't like she hadn't seen almost all of his underwear before. She grabbed a pair of balled up socks, and was about to shut the drawer when she noticed something purple beneath another pair. She pushed the socks aside and he jaw nearly dropped. Timothy McGee had a large box of condoms hidden in his sock drawer.

The sheer size of the box was what had astounded her in the first place. It wasn't unusual for him to have condoms, he was always concerned with protection and she'd remembered this from their time together. But this many condoms seemed a little ridiculous. He hadn't even had a supply like this when they dated. At most, he had one or two packs. Why on earth was he buying condoms in bulk? In her typical fashion, she grabbed the box and decided to ask him herself.

She trotted out of the bedroom, box in hand and sauntered right up to him in the kitchen. He had just started the microwave when he turned around and came face to face with the large box of Trojans.

"Either your dating a nympho or you're preparing for a nuclear holocaust in which you will not be responsible for repopulating the planet." She stated.

His face went white. She'd gone through his dresser. He'd offered her a place to stay to escape from the cold, he'd offered her a shower, hell he'd offered her his clothing and she'd repaid the favor by snooping. He'd always known she was nosy but he hated when her nosiness resulted in him feeling unbelievably uncomfortable in a situation. He grabbed the box and retreated back towards his bedroom.

"Abby, would you stay out of my stuff please?" he told her, over his shoulder as he walked away.

"You forgot socks! Not my fault McGee." She said, defending herself. The microwave beeped, temporarily distracting her from her thoughts and she opened it. The scent was familiar, but she told herself she was wrong. She reached for a piece with her fingers, and after popping it into her mouth she discovered two things. The first was that the dish could stand another forty-five seconds or so because it was only lukewarm. The second was that her instincts had been correct, it was General Tso's tofu. And that confused her more than anything else. She restarted the microwave and tried to figure out a plausible explanation.

She loved General Tso's tofu but McGee didn't. He hated anything tofu related. He hated the look of it, the smell of it and he definitely hated the taste of it. So if he hadn't known that she was coming over for Chinese, why would he order tofu.

"Did you start Jethro on some weird diet?" she asked when he returned from the bedroom. It seemed ridiculous that any diet for a canine would recommend deep fried tofu covered in sauce, but it also seemed implausible that McGee would be eating it himself.

He looked at her like she had three heads. "No, why would you think that?" he asked.

"Well you ordered General Tso's tofu, and you didn't plan on me being here. Unless you were stalking me, but after my crazy stalker ex, I've tried to be more aware of my surroundings, and I've gotten pretty good at it, so I don't think you were.."

He cut her off. "Abby, I like tofu now."

It was like she was in some weird dream where up was down and left was right. McGee's bathroom had been completely redesigned and stripped of anything that she would define as McGee-like. He was hoarding the world's largest supply of condoms in his sock drawer and now he liked tofu. She started to get nervous that she was in the beginning of a really bad horror movie.

"Since when do you like tofu?" she asked, completely confused. The microwave dinged again and he moved past her to open it. He reached up into the cabinets above to retrieve two bowls, and as he spooned the food into them he explained.

"I dated this girl briefly, who was a vegetarian. She lived off of this stuff and I really had no other options. I didn't think that there could be anything worse than tofu, but in comparison to some things I tasted, this stuff's amazing. Anyway, they had this at this god-awful restaurant that she would insist on eating at and it was the only thing that I could stomach on the menu. I guess I kinda got used to it."

"When did you date her?" Abby asked and McGee smiled as he handed her her plate.

"Right around the time that I lost all that weight. She was controlling, which inevitably was what led to our breaking up."

Abby accepted the bowl, as well as the fork and paper towel that he'd offered her. They ate in silence for little under a minute before her curiosity got the best of her again.

"So, Casanova, why no date on Valentine's Day? I thought for sure you'd be out with…what was her name again?"

He smiled again, as he chewed his food and waited until he swallowed before answering.

"Tina. And we broke up about a week ago."

Abby's eyes softened. She knew how much he hated break-ups; he always took them so hard. And right before the day that's so centered on love and couples…he couldn't be dealing well with this.

"McGee, I'm really sorry," she offered sympathetically and his response wasn't what she expected.

"It's no big deal Abs. Besides I broke up with her," he explained, as he turned around to help himself to more food.

He broke up with her. That was strange. He never broke up with women. He was usually unbelievably thankful to even get a woman that breaking up with them was the furthest thing from his mind. He even had to be convinced to break up with the girl who had opened up credit cards in his name because he'd somehow convinced himself that being a victim of identity theft was a turn on. Ending a relationship was not in Timothy McGee's nature.

"What happened?" Abby asked, knowing that what ever it was, it had to be bad.

"She wanted me to meet her parents," he responded, nonchalantly.

"McGee, you broke up with a girl just because she wanted you to meet her parents?" she asked, incredulously.

"Abs, we'd been dating like two weeks. It was way too soon. I could just see it now, by Earth Day she'd be picking out china patterns," he visibly shuddered at the thought.

Suddenly, everything became clearer. His need for several orders of Chinese takeout. His black and chrome bathroom. The giant box of condoms that he was keeping in his sock drawer. The fact that he'd actually taken initiative and broken up with a woman.

"Oh my god. You're becoming Tony!"


	3. Chapter 3

McGee nearly spit the broccoli spear that he'd been chewing out of his mouth when she'd uttered those words. He looked at her and her eyes were wide, just like they always were when she'd made one of her discoveries. Except this time, she was dead wrong.

"Abby, I am NOT becoming DiNozzo," he stated, firm in his belief that above all else, he was nothing like the senior field agent. Tony was childish and immature on every level. He'd had one serious relationship in his life and that was because he was ordered to get into it.

"You totally are!" she argued right back. She began to pace and gesticulate to help get her point across as she often did in the lab. And it was fine in the lab, but it was not fine for her to be comparing him to Tony. "It's like…Planet of the Apes. Where Charlton Heston is all confused because the apes are the people and the people are the apes. You've become the ape McGee! You've become Tony!"

"Abby, while I will agree with you that Tony is definitely an ape, I'm not. Stop being ridiculous," he replied, taking his dish to the sink. Shockingly, he'd lost his appetite.

But Abby was not giving up on her enlightened view of her occasional partner.

"How many girls have you dated this year McGee?"

"Abby it's only February." He argued, shaking his head and giving her the look he always gave her when he needed her to relax. He was hoping that she would drop her question or at least rephrase it. She did not. In fact, the revelation that it was only two months into 2009, only fueled the fire more.

"Since January 1st, Timothy. How many girls?" she asked again.

He sighed. He could argue with her that she was being crazy, but he knew he'd end up losing the battle and answering the question anyway. He always did. No matter what had changed in his life, she remained a constant and he could never say no to her. He would always give in.

"Ok firstly, I don't date 'girls' I date women. And secondly…eleven," he answered. "It would have been twelve but the twelfth turned out to be…Tony" he added, referencing the prank that DiNozzo had played on him just a few weeks prior.

Abby remembered the prank and she remembered her reaction. She'd head slapped Tony and told him to quit messing with McGee's emotions. She'd told him that it was about time he stopped treating McGee like a little brother. He was no longer a probie and he didn't deserve that kind of hazing. Clearly Abby didn't understand just how much of a probie McGee wasn't.

Eleven. This number shocked her, and suddenly the giant box of condoms made sense. In the past, he'd have been lucky to get half that number of dates in a year. But things had changed. He drove a Porsche. He shopped at Armani Exchange. He was a widely respected best selling novelist. And apparently the sum of those three things equaled a brand new timothy McGee. A womanizing, man whorish Timothy McGee.

In essence, she should have seen it coming. There was the cheerleader. Her bleach blonde roots should have given her away. There was a psychotic neighbor, who apparently made identity theft sexy. But the worst of all, had been the story that Ziva had recounted. The funeral girl. He'd "gotten right in there" when she was vulnerable. Abby still wanted to refuse to believe that story but his admission of dating eleven girls in a month coupled with the Costco-sized box of condoms, were revealing the magic 8 ball's answer. "All signs point to yes."

"Wow, McGee," was all she could say.

He rolled his eyes at her. "Oh come on, like you're so innocent. I noticed that once again your lab was filled with black roses," he offered, letting her know that he didn't take kindly to her disapproval. In actuality, it wasn't so much the disapproval he cared about. He was still stuck on her comparing him to Tony.

"From friends, McGee!" she exclaimed, in defense of the morbid flower collection that had populated her lab that day. "It's not my fault that my friends love me and give me flowers on Valentine's Day. Besides, at least what my friends give me doesn't require a twice a day treatment," she bit back with a smile. She was kidding. Sort of.

"Haha, very funny Abs. You wanna go wait in your car?" he threatened. He was kidding.

"You wouldn't do that!" she replied, her voice taking an upward inflection. McGee needn't ask what was coming next. He knew that she would not be directing her next comments towards him, but towards the large German Shepherd that lay at her feet. She squatted down to pet him and just as he'd thought, she talked to his beloved pet.

"He wouldn't do that, would he Jethro? He wouldn't make me walk all the way back there and wait out in the cold would he? No, he wouldn't. He may be a man-slut, but he's not that mean, is he, boy? No. No he's not."

McGee folded his arms in front of his chest and watched her. There was something about her. He could never get mad at her, even when he knew he should be. When she shanked his jacket, he wasn't angry. Well, he was pissed, but not at her. And now, as she was baby talking to his dog and insinuating that he had venereal diseases and calling him names, he still wasn't mad at her. For everything that she'd ever done to him, she was still Abby and that made up for everything.

"Ya done?" he asked her, as he willed his facial expression to show that he was not amused. He couldn't hold back the small smirk though. He was kind of amused.

Just then the sound of chimes filled the air, a sound he'd come to recognize as her cell phone. _Saved by the bat-phone_, he thought. She gave him a smirk, which he'd seen several times before, and disappeared off into the bedroom to answer it. He'd originally assumed it had been the on-call mechanic, but as he overheard her greeting of "Hi, Sister Rosita!" he knew he was wrong.

He began to clear her plate, and clean up the counter where they'd stood to eat dinner and he found himself smiling. It wasn't that he enjoyed everything that had transpired, but Abby had a way about her. She could bring a smile to his face in any situation, even one where she was calling him a man-slut.

_Man-slut_, he thought. _Am not_. He assured himself that for a guy his age he was moving along the right path. He was simply testing the waters. There were plenty of fish in the sea, and only one would be meant to be his catch. There was nothing wrong with casting a few lines and throwing back a couple guppies. It was natural. It was what guys did. Even Tony would agr…

Oh god, maybe she was right.

Before he had a chance to fully panic or talk himself down from the ledge, she reappeared, cell phone in hand. His mind had already started to sift through anything he'd said to a woman within the past month that could possibly qualify as Tony-esque so he missed what she said the first time.

"McGee!"

"Huh? Sorry Abs, what'd ya say?" he asked, trying to rid himself of the sickening feeling that anything DiNozzo-ish might have had passed his lips. He felt like his mind needed a wet-wipe.

"Sister Rosita said they just closed the roads by the convent. It's really bad out," she said sighing. "I think we might need to hunker down for the night Timmy."

McGee was perplexed. They'd walked in the storm and it hadn't been that bad. Roads were still open when they'd been walking, and though the cars that had been traveling on them had been few and far between, they'd still been driving. The snow had been coming down harder as their destination had become closer, but there still had been cars on the road. Or maybe they'd just been sand trucks…

"It can't be that bad," McGee said, walking towards his bedroom. Abby followed suit and stood beside him as he flicked on the large flat screen tv that hung on his wall. He was about to change put on the weather channel when he saw that the local channel was doing a live report. The words "Nor Easter 09 Live Coverage" scrolled across the screen beneath the live feed of one of the local personalities out in what looked to be a much worse blizzard than the one that McGee and Abby encountered. McGee furrowed his brow at the TV and turned up the volume.

"Thanks Mike and Liz," the reporter, who was identified as Sarah Purcell, began. Large chunks of snow and sleet whipped around her. "We're coming to you live right now from right downstairs on the street corner of the studios. Now normally in weather such as this, we'll usually be on location somewhere and the reason why we're not, if you can see behind me at all, is because the local roads have been completely closed. The only vehicles allowed access are emergency personnel, fire trucks, ambulances and of course, the plowers and the sanders, who certainly aren't going to be having an easy night."

"Definitely not," remarked Liz Santiago, one of the lead anchors. "Does the state have enough resources to handle this type of weather emergency?" she asked.

Her answer was almost inaudible as the strong winds whipped around her, causing massive static on the large microphone she held. McGee retreated to his bedroom window to see if the view from it matched the one that was being displayed on the large plasma screen. It did.

"Well, all available sand trucks and plowers are out and they will continue to be on duty throughout the night, as the storm continues. The governor has officially declared this a state of emergency and the national weather service is telling people to stay indoors and to not attempt to travel. Several roads have already been closed, and many more will be closed in the coming hours."

As Purcell continued her report, Abby turned to McGee with a smile on her face.

"Where do you keep the popcorn Timmy?" she asked. "Looks like we're having a slumber party."

She quickly retreated on her way out of the bedroom, leaving him with a look on his face that he could often associate with her: one of utter confusion. Remote still in hand, he shook his head, following her out of the bedroom.

"You can't possibly be hungry…" he started and the TV continued to play to an empty room. Abby was too busy rummaging through cabinets and he was too busy trying to get her to stop, that neither one heard the comments made by the anchors that were safe and warm inside their downtown studio.

"Apparently, a lot of people will be "staying in" this Valentine's Day," Mike Roberts said, shuffling his papers.

"They will indeed, but you know that statistically, 9 months after a major blizzard, there's usually a baby boom," Liz replied smiling. "And with this being Valentine's Day, this could very well be the biggest blizzard baby boom yet."

Mike just laughed. "Well have more on that in…when…November?" Liz nodded. "But in the meantime, stay tuned to News 4 for more developing updates on NorEaster '09"

* * *

A/N: Don't worry guys. The man slut will redeem himself :)


	4. Chapter 4

Just like she had said, Abby headed straight to the kitchen cabinets and grabbed the popcorn. It was one food that McGee did keep stocked, not for its nutritional content, but instead because popcorn was an absolute necessity when watching a movie. And he'd watched many a movie recently, and for almost all of them, he'd had a female companion. He didn't share this knowledge with Abby, but instead kept it to himself. And while the fact stayed in his head, it was filed under the "too much like Tony" tally that he'd started

Outside, the weather showed no signs of letting up. Had the winds not been so treacherous, the snowfall would have been almost idyllic. But the brutal gusts of freezing air made the delicate flakes whip around in dizzying dance that looked downright frightening. Abby glanced towards the window when a strong blast of wind rattled the glass, causing even Jethro to take notice, and she was thankful that she had run into McGee. The thought of being alone in her car, coupled with her usual thoughts of death, made her grateful to be in his apartment. She returned her attention to the task at hand and unwrapped the microwave popcorn.

"How long?" she asked. He seemed to be adrift in his own world, completely zoned out. His brow was furrowed, as it often was when he was trying to figure out a complex equation. Abby wondered what was so complex about making popcorn.

"Earth to McGee. Come in McGee," she addressed loudly, snapping him out of his headspace. He was grateful for the distraction.

"How long?" she repeated, holding up the bag of pop secret.

"Oh. Uhh, two minutes thirty seven seconds," he answered. She put the bag in the microwave, and entered the numbers, taking notice at just how specific the time was. She shouldn't have been surprised. While his apartment lacked "real food," he had a most adequate supply of popcorn. Popcorn and wine. Two necessities for a cozy night in with a date.

Inadvertently, her mind wandered and she wondered how many other girls had been in his apartment. Women, she mentally corrected herself. He dated women. Women who probably didn't understand what half of his computer equipment did. Women who probably thought that advanced string theory had something to do with knitting. Women who could probably just barely spell their own last names let alone pronounce any of the complex terminology that she used on a daily basis. She scolded herself for thinking such a thing. It was as if she was jealous, when in actuality she totally wasn't. _Me. Jealous_, she thought to herself. _He only wishes I cared that much._

"So what movie are we watching? I'm in the mood for something gorey. Got anything gorey, McGee? Maybe a little Texas Chainsaw Massacre?" she asked. If anything could get her thoughts away from this new McGee, it was some good old-fashioned blood and guts.

"I think I'm gonna pass on the movie," he decided suddenly. "I think I'm gonna try and catch up on my novel," Yes. That was exactly what he needed to do. He needed to do the one thing that received the highest amount of Tony's ridicule. He'd do the one thing that was absolutely anti-Tony.

__________________________________________________________

He stared at the typewriter. This was it. Do or die. Time to officially prove that he was nothing like Anthony DiNozzo, if only to himself. He took a deep breath and rolled his head from side to side, loosening the muscles in his neck. He interlocked his fingers and stretched his arms out in front of him, feeling the joints in his shoulder crack in a glorious release of tension. Again, he stared at the typewriter. He placed his hands on the keys and his mind was blank. Nothing. Nada. Zip. Zilch. Zero.

"Come on Tim," he said to himself aloud. "Get those creative juices flowing."

"Maybe you drained your creative juices, along with all the other ones you've been using for your extracurricular activities," she commented from behind him.

"Abby!" He exclaimed, half out of sheer frustration and half out of annoyance at being interrupted. Where the hell had she come from? He hadn't even heard her leave the bedroom, yet there she stood, casually sipping a glass of wine.

Damn ergonomic bottle opener, he thought. He'd bought it for the fact that it could open a bottle of wine with ease in a matter of seconds. One of the added benefits was that it was almost inaudible. His dates always seemed surprised when he returned to the bedroom with two glasses of wine.

"What? I was thirsty," she answered, her eyes wide with surprise.

He rolled his eyes at her. He'd already dealt with enough of her mockery when he went to go change into more comfortable attire. As he'd grabbed a pair of track pants and a t-shirt from his dresser, she'd made fun of his recently watched movie queue on NetFlix.

"Dawn of the Dead, I can appreciate. But The Notebook? Come on, Timmy." She'd mocked.

"Abby, it's a classic love story," he'd argued back. It didn't make a difference when she saw the next title.

"Titanic?! Ya gotta be kidding me McGee! Wait, wait. Let me guess. So your date is crying over this," Abby then took the time to implement air quotes around her next word. "Classic love story and you probably wiped away a tear, looked deep into her eyes and said, 'I'll never let go.'" She added extra emotion to the final phrase and McGee remained un-phased. Instead he took the remote from her hand, and quickly set the queue to download The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. He added on Halloween and Friday the 13th for good measure.

"There," he'd said as he tossed the remote onto the bed. "Now you have three movies to watch and you can leave me alone," he'd snapped as he made his way to change.

Clearly, Abby didn't intend on leaving him alone.

"Abby, do you mind? I'm trying to write here," he started.

She frowned and shook her head, her face displaying one of utter sadness.

"Yeah, emphasis on the word trying, huh McGee," she said as she took another sip of her wine.

He sighed. He loved her in every sense of the word, in some senses he wasn't willing to admit to anyone, even himself. But sometimes, he wanted to kill her. She could drive him absolutely crazy, which was exactly what she was doing. He stood and walked behind her, ushering her into the bedroom.

"I'm sure the movie's done downloading now," he said, in an almost sing-song voice, as if he was trying to entice her into staying away from him. His tone changed however when he eyed Jethro stretched out comfortably on his expensive comforter.

"Abby, he's not allowed on the bed!" he scolded, and she looked at him with the wide eyed innocence that she seemed to be masterful at portraying.

"Down," he commanded, and Jethro quickly obeyed.

"Good. Stay. Both of you," he added. He walked out, closing the door behind him. As he sat back down at the typewriter, he heard the unmistakable sound of Abby patting the mattress. A few seconds later, he heard Jethro leap onto the bed. He rolled his eyes, but knowing it would be useless to scold her again, he got up and went for the one thing that he knew would help: a glass of wine.

An hour and three glasses of wine later, he still hadn't made any progress. A few pages he'd written had ended up in the shredder, a couple he'd tossed into his binder but he couldn't legitimately say that he'd actually made any headway. He'd tried to write the Lisa/Tommy stakeout scene, but he his creativity was not up to snuff, and short of the physical description of the storm that was raging outside, that was about all he'd managed. And he couldn't exactly pat himself of the back for that one since he'd pulled the entire scene from real life. Plus, he'd re-written it three times. The first two had been shredded and he still wasn't completely in love with the third. It was safe to say that he was creatively stifled and the sounds of blood curdling screams coming from his bedroom were not helping.

He tried to drown them out, tried to type something but he couldn't. He knew that she was just behind that door…probably getting popcorn kernels all over his Egyptian cotton sheets and his glorious black satin comforter was now a bed for his massive dog. He didn't understand why she couldn't just follow the simplest of instructions. "Don't eat in the bed" had been a rule since the first time she'd ever set foot in his apartment, although at that time eating was usually the last thing on either of their minds.

He remembered the first weekend that he'd moved in after being transferred from Norfolk. She'd gladly helped him, taking each of his instructions and putting her own Abby twist on them. He recalled her taking a box of his clothing to the bedroom and returning wearing nothing but one of his dress shirts. His breath had caught in his throat when he'd turned around and saw her leaning against his doorframe, beckoning him with her finger and giving him her best "come hither" look. At that point, he'd been with her several times, but he was still nervous, so he'd rattled off some excuse about putting away pots and went back to the task at hand. She'd been stealthy in her pursuit, and when he turned around just seconds later she was inches from him, her eyes smoldering with desire. He could never say no to those eyes and he hadn't then. It was until much later on that night that they'd finally christened his bedroom. In a style that was typically Abby, they'd christened the kitchen floor first.

The loud engine of a chainsaw and a shrill scream pulled him from his memory and he directed his attention back to the machine in front of him. He debated for a moment going to join her and just spending Valentine's night watching people get brutally murdered. It could be nice, just spending some time with her. It had been months since they'd really "hung out." Months that he had spent with other women doing other things. Things that Tony would be proud of. He furrowed his brow and set his hands in the correct position on the keys. He was going write something if it killed him.

Abby watched in delight as yet another blonde bimbo ran for her life. "Why do they run?" she mused aloud. "They're wearing six inch heels and they're stuffed into mini skirts. What's the point of even trying?" Jethro had stopped looking up at her when she spoke. He was far too comfy on the luxurious satin comforter that, until that night, had been off limits.

She popped some more popcorn in her mouth, and when she spilled a few pieces onto the bed she wiped them over in Jethro's general direction. The dog happily licked them up and swallowed them before returning back to his comfortable position. Abby, for what seemed like the millionth time that evening directed her gaze to the closed door that separated her and the apartment's owner. She wondered what he was doing, since she couldn't hear the click clack of his typewriter. Although, she couldn't hear much over the merciful pleas of a co-ed begging not be slaughtered. God, she loved that movie, but as she stared at the door she couldn't quite concentrate on the upcoming death scene that was one of her favorites. Instead she found herself lost in thought wondering just what in the hell he was doing. As if on cue, she heard the typewriter come to life furiously as he click clacked away.

There was no use in convincing herself that she hadn't hoped he was "creatively stifled" and would walk through the door, plant himself next to her and enjoy the movie by her side. She wanted him to. She wanted him to ever since he'd seemingly been excited over the fact that the movies would allow her to "leave him alone." It had been far too long since the two of them had spent any time together outside of work, not counting lunches because they only ended talking about work anyway. No, they hadn't spent any time together in months. Months that Timothy had spent entertaining various bimbos who probably required calculators for simple mathematic equations. She wanted to tell herself that she wasn't hurt by the fact that these women were now who he enjoyed spending his time with, but she was. It certainly wouldn't bring her to tears, she wasn't that torn up about it, but as she stared at the closed door between them, the realization did sting a little and she suddenly had the strangest of urges.

She removed herself from the bed, and went to his closet, pulling the doors open. She furrowed her brow as she rifled through his shirts, looking for her favorite. She sifted through the Prada's and the Armani's and looked for the one she hoped he still had. When she hadn't seen it on the rack, she pulled out a box labeled "Old" and knew she'd find it there. Regardless of how many designer shirts McGee might have purchased with his Gemcity royalties, one thing was certain. He was a pack rat who would never throw out anything. At the bottom of the box, amongst dark brown blazers and drab colored pants, she found it: an old, worn blue button down shirt. She'd recognized it the moment she'd seen the little hint of the collar, but she still checked to be sure. She turned over the right cuff and saw the familiar brown stain. She smiled and didn't notice that yet another victim had fallen prey to the killer.

Abby didn't bother going into the bathroom to change, because if Tim happened to walk in (which she knew he wouldn't), it wasn't anything he hadn't seen anyway. Granted, he hadn't seen it in quite some time, but nonetheless it wasn't anything new. As she pulled the sweatshirt off and slipped into his old ratty dress shirt, it didn't feel quite the same as she had hoped.

She remembered how he'd take it off after a long day's work, and toss it in the hamper and how she would always pluck it out and wear it to bed. He originally argued that it was disgusting for her to be wearing a shirt that he spent the entire day in, but she argued that it was soft and it smelled like him. She quickly found a place in her heart for this particular shirt, and one night when they were eating Chinese she purposefully draped the cuff in some soy sauce she had left on her plate. She left her arm there for a good ten minutes and when he finally noticed; the stain had set well enough to completely ruin the shirt. It was a small victory, but it was hers.

Now, the shirt didn't smell like him at all. It didn't smell like his cologne or laundry detergent or even like his sweat. It smelt like nothing. It smelt like a shirt that had been sitting in a box of other non-smelling clothes for a rather long amount of time. It was yet another brutal reminder of how many things had changed between them; something she really wanted to forget. But as she stood there, wearing a shirt that she'd worn so many times before, she realized what things she didn't want to forget. She didn't want to forget the old Timmy. The stuttering young probie who would always turn to her when he was afraid Gibbs was going to kill him or needed help dealing with Tony's constant hazing. That was the Tim she'd fallen for. He was the owner of the shirt she was wearing. That was who she wanted to be with tonight.

She sighed sadly, completely ignoring yet another one of her favorite scenes, as she realized that, just like the box of shirts in the closet, that was the old McGee. The pre-Gemicity McGee. The pre-porsche McGee. The pre-armani shirts and bimbos and Costco sized box of condoms McGee. And no one knew better than she did, that there's no going back. She debated taking the shirt off and stuffing it back into the box, but she didn't. Instead, she took off the sweatpants and crawled beneath the covers of the once familiar bed with the now unfamiliar sheets. If only for tonight, if only with that shirt, at least she would have one piece of her old Timmy.


	5. Chapter 5

He typed furiously, his fingers working as fast as they could to keep up with his mind, which was spitting out the perfect dialogue. It was even more perfect than he could have imagined. This somehow had to make it into his book. At the moment, he had absolutely no place for it but he would make it work. He had to. It was too good.

The scene had absolutely nothing to do with Lisa and Tommy. Tim had long since forgotten about the stakeout and instead free wrote to get out some frustrations. He had ended up with one of the most emotional and powerful scenes he'd ever written. It had started as a simple argument over lab results between Amy and McGreggor and it had escalated into so much more. Now, on his fifth page, he was in the zone. He was feeling it. He was getting everything he needed to and more out of his system and onto the page. The power of the written words, his written words were liberating him as they always did. McGee couldn't say these things to Abby, but McGreggor could and did say them to Amy. He was the strong willed federal agent. He was the hard ass with the heart of gold. He was braver, stronger, more intelligent and he was everything that McGee wished he could be. Agent McGreggor was his hero and it was ever apparent with the scene that he was writing. His fingers flew across the keys, clicking away as he watched his words come to life on the paper before him. He watched letters form words and words form sentences, and sentences form paragraphs of things that he wished he could express. And then, as a large boom sounded in the distance, he watched it all go black as his apartment was plunged into darkness.

He sighed. Of all the times for a blackout, it had to be during one of the most creative and productive nights that he'd had in months. He knew from the sound of the boom, and the fact that when he peered out his window the entire street was dark, that the noise had been a transformer being blown. He couldn't see much from where he was sitting, but he knew from the boom and the weather that the darkness would be sticking around for a while.

"McGee," Abby called from the bedroom. She hadn't moved from the bed, that much he knew. He would have heard her tripping over her own feet. Abby never did well when she was trying to make her way somewhere in pitch darkness, which he always found somewhat ironic.

"Hang on, I'll grab a flashlight," he yelled back. As he stood from the desk, he realized that it was much more difficult to maneuver, and he couldn't recall his apartment ever being that dark. He also couldn't recall the specific placement of any furniture that would be blocking his path to the workbench. As he held out his arms on either side of him, he attempted to make his way and then he heard the thud.

"Damn it!" came the cry from the bedroom.

"Abby, I told you to wait," he said loudly, still feeling his way. He was moving at the pace of a snail, but after hearing her curse, he was okay with that. The last thing he needed was to hurt himself. He heard the door to his bedroom open, but there was no light to be seen, not even a glimmer. He couldn't even see Abby.

"McGee?" she called again, clearly disturbed by the lack of light in his apartment.

"I'm right here," he answered, as he made his way closer to his work bench, and the MagLite that lay on top of it. He was just a few steps away when his sock clad foot stepped down on one of Jethro's squeaky toys. And it wasn't the noise that the tiny plastic hot dog had made that worried him. It was the sound that immediately followed; the sound of Jethro's nails quickly accelerating across the wooden floor.

McGee lost his balance as the large German shepherd collided with his lower body and both tried desperately to move out of the way. McGee could hear Jethro's paws frantically scratching against the floor, a tell tale sign that he was trying to run and not having any luck. He knew that if he fell on the dog, he would probably gravely injure him, so in a split second decision he sacrificed himself. He threw himself forward, knowing that Jethro was either behind him or directly to his left, and he accepted his fate. His head solidly connected with the edge of the workbench, but as he fell to the floor, he didn't feel Jethro beneath him. He didn't hear a yelp, and he was thankful that he hadn't hurt his beloved pet.

"Jethro! Oh my god, my poor baby, what happened? What happened? Are you okay? Did you get hurt? Did Timmy step on my poor baby?" she cooed. Clearly the dog had made it back over to Abby in one piece. His throbbing head on the other hand….

"I'm fine by the way, Abs" he said, checking to see if he was bleeding. While his temple had slammed into the workbench quite hard, he couldn't feel any blood, but he knew he would have a mark. He wasn't surprised at the fact that Abby had directed her concern towards Jethro. He always suspected she liked the dog better anyway. He sighed deeply and reached for the flashlight. He stood himself up, pressed the button and aimed the illumination at the floor in front of him, careful to avoid the treacherous squeaky hot dog.

As he made his way towards Abby, the shining light illuminated something else: her wardrobe, or lack thereof. As he directed the gleam up past her bare calves, past her knees, he realized that she was wearing one of his shirts and it only reached her mid thighs. The sensation of déjà vu overtook him, and he recalled the memory that he'd had only an hour beforehand. He recognized the shirt, yet he couldn't stop the words from forming.

"What are you wearing?" he asked.

"What?" she questioned right back, the tone of her voice telling him that he knew exactly why she was wearing it. "I figured I was going to be in there all night, so I got ready for bed. You know I can't sleep in sweats, Timmy. I feel smothered."

Her explanation, although plausible and completely rational, neglected to answer his question.

"So you dug through my closet looking for _that_ shirt?"

It was more of a statement than a question. He knew she loved it. When they where together, he remembered that it was always the first one she chose when she stayed over. He remembered how she would pluck it off the top of the hamper, making him cringe in disgust. He remembered how she would pull it from the hanger if it had been freshly washed, despite his protests that he wanted to wear it to work. He remembered how she'd stained it with soy sauce, so that she could make it her own and not have to listen to his complaints. He remembered more than he'd liked to about that shirt which was the exact reason he'd tossed it in the box marked "Old" in the back of his closet. Out of sight, out of mind. Without that shirt, he wasn't reminiscent of the fun that they'd had together or the way she'd made him feel. Without that shirt, he wasn't reminded of a better time of his life. Without that shirt, he wasn't getting that familiar twinge in his gut that told him he'd lost something wonderful. But as she stood in front of him, bathed only in the glow of a flashlight in his pitch-dark apartment on Valentine's Day, he was reminded of all of it.

"Well, it was the only one that didn't smell like a mish mosh of women's perfumes. You should really invest in some better laundry detergent, McGee. Your closet smells like the fragrance counter at Macys," she answered, gently stroking Jethro's head as he sat before her. She knew she was lying, but McGee had bought it. Even in the near darkness, she could see his jaw clench. She could tell he was biting back a scathing response.

"So, what's with the power outage? Transformer?" she questioned, changing the subject.

"That's my guess," he replied, moving past her into the bedroom. He shone the light out the window in an attempt to see if anything was lit up. "Looks like the whole block is out," he commented.

"Where are the candles?" she asked.

McGee furrowed his brow, as he often did when he was perplexed. "I don't have candles," he responded harshly, as if his masculinity was in question. Guys didn't have candles.

"You have the world's largest supply of condoms in your sock drawer, you have numerous bottles of wine, and yet you lack candles? Some Don Juan, McGee. Seriously, Tony would be disappointed."

And then he'd had it.

"Abby, enough, alright?!" he yelled, much louder than he'd meant. "For the last time, I am NOT Tony. I'm not like Tony in any sense. So enough with the comments and the snide remarks, just shut up about it," He turned on his heel and stalked to the bathroom, and she questioned him as he left her.

"Where are you going?"

"To the bathroom. And then, since we have no power, I'm going to bed. If you wanna stay up, by all means take the flashlight and have fun." He slammed the door, leaving her in near pitch darkness. She stood still for the short time that he was in the bathroom, and when he emerged, he walked towards her. He shone the light in the direction of Jethro's dog bed and commanded firmly. "Go." The dog did as he was told and quickly settled onto the large square plaid cushion that he loved. McGee closed the bedroom door, and didn't look at Abby as he made his way to his side of the bed. He glanced her way as he pulled back the covers.

"Your choice." He offered.

As much as she loathed being anywhere near him when he was in one of his "cranky moods," judging by the way the storm was still raging outside there was no way that power would be restored anytime soon. And without a computer or a television or human companionship, she knew she'd be bored. She shuffled herself over to her side and climbed in. He rolled onto his side, leaving his back to face her and clicked the flashlight off. They were left in darkness, the only noise coming from the brutal storm outside and the uncomfortable silence that occupied the space between them.

Not one for uncomfortable silences, Abby spoke.

"You know, being like Tony isn't necessarily a bad thing McGee," she started. Beneath closed lids, McGee rolled his eyes.

"Abby, just drop it, please."

"No. I mean Tony's a good guy, a great guy. Sure he's a little goofy and sometimes he can be immature, like when he super glued you to your keyboard. Or that time he set up Ziva's chair to collapse. Or when he pretended to be your dream girl online,"

"Abby.." McGee mumbled against his pillows. He knew she wouldn't stop but maybe, maybe he could help her get to the point just a little bit faster. Suddenly, he understood how Gibbs felt.

"Right, sore subject. My point is, Tony's a good guy. He's a strong federal agent, he's capable. He's virile. Well, I don't know so much if I'd call him virile, but I know he's definitely called himself virile…"

"Abs…"

"Sorry," she sighed, trying to formulate her thoughts as quickly as possible to not aggravate him more. And one of those thoughts was why she cared whether or not she aggravated him more. She loved annoying him, why was she caring all of a sudden? Her main focus returned to her point, which she somehow verbalized concisely.

"Just don't forget who you are."

McGee turned to face her so quickly; he nearly bounced against the mattress. He was ready with a quick defense, but in the darkness, he caught glimpse of her eyes. Tender, and full of something that he couldn't define, they told him he needed to take a gentle approach.

"Abby, I'm still me. Nothing is ever going to change that," he began. "So I've started dating more, and I eat tofu now and I have a grown up shower curtain, but I'm still me. I promise."

She was silent, which he took to mean that his reassurance hadn't reassured her at all. So, he finally gave in to something he didn't want to admit. Something he was slightly embarrassed by, but something that he knew would prove his point once and for all.

"You don't believe me," he began, stating the obvious. "Ask me how many condoms I've used from that box."

"What?" she asked completely confused.

"Ask me, how many condoms from that box I have actually used within the past two months." He repeated. He could see her brow furrowed in confusion in the darkness.

"Umm, okay. How many condoms have you," she began and was cut off by his answer.

"Three," he answered, his hands folded across his chest as he stared at the ceiling. "There are four missing, but the fourth didn't get used. I dropped it before I could open it and just grabbed another one."

Abby laughed, partly because she could envision Tim fumbling in the darkness and partly because she was so relieved that she'd been wrong about him having developed such promiscuous ways. But one question remained.

"So if you're not using them Timmy, why buy in bulk? You do know those things expire, right?"

"Yes, I know that," he answered, his tone telling her that he was not a complete idiot. "And the answer to the bulk question is Tony. He came to one of my book signings a couple months ago, completely intent on hassling me. He didn't realize that the majority of Gemcity's fans are women. And once he saw that, it was all over."

"He tell you that you needed to capitalize on your success and take advantage of that?" Abby asked.

"He showed up at my door that night, apologizing for all the hazing he's done to me and told me he wanted to 'take me under his wing' and 'show me the light.'" McGee explained.

Abby didn't need to ask if he had taken Tony up on the offer, because she knew he hadn't. She knew that McGee hadn't taken the box from Tony because he wanted them or needed them, but he had done so to get Tony to shut up and leave. Everything was starting to fall into place and she was feeling better by the second. He wasn't a clone of Tony. He wasn't a man-whore. He was still just…McGee.

"Abs, just because I'm dating a lot doesn't mean that I'm…" he paused trying to find the best way to phrase what he was trying to say. "Closing the deal," he finished. "Come on, you know me better than that. I can't just jump into bed with someone I barely know."

It was awkward for him to be talking about his sexual habits with other women with Abby, especially when it happened to be Valentine's Day and she happened to be in his bed wearing a shirt that had significant meaning to both of them. But at the same time, it wasn't awkward at all. She was still his best friend, who he could talk about anything with. She would always listen, and never judge, not intentionally at least. If she did, she would always explain her reasoning or apologize, just as she'd done. And as weird as it was, it felt good to be talking to her about it.

"I only have one more question," she remarked, feeling much better about the man that she lay next to.

"Anything," McGee answered.

"Why'd you really get rid of the monkey shower curtain?"

* * *

**A/N: Are we all happy that I redeemed Timmy? I had to! A. He's totally not a man-ho and B. I was kinda afraid you guys would riot...LOL! Hit the lil review button and tell me what you think! The sooner you do, the sooner the next chapter comes....**


	6. Chapter 6

_I don't know if I can attribute the fact that I haven't updated in months to being busy at work, being obsessed with Bones (seriously heart that show) or that fact that I'm still mad at NCIS for this Jules person that they've decided to put on there (not gonna lie, HATE her), but all things aside, I owe you guys! Thanks for sticking with this and thanks for all the reviews..._

_We last left the happy couple (or rather begrudgingly despondent duo) alone in bed together as a brutal nor'easter took out the power... _

* * *

The loud whistling seemed distant at first, but as Abby slowly awoke from the deep slumber, she realized it wasn't far away at all. It was the whistling of the wind, wind that was further strengthening the storm that raged just outside McGee's window. Her lids felt heavier than usual, something she knew she could equate to her exhaustion and her feet were cold. Not just cold. Practically frozen. She sighed, and between the heavily drooping lids she saw her breath as she exhaled. Cold was one thing, but she knew that this was beyond cold. She debated for a moment before she finally gave in and poked him.

He mumbled something incomprehensible, so she poked him again. He simply shifted further away from her and her frustration was mounting. It was freezing, there was a massive storm going on outside, they'd lost power and now, she feared, heat. She decided that come hell or high water, Timothy McGee was waking up. She'd tried the gentle approach, so she went for something a little more effective.

"Ow, Abby!" McGee exclaimed, as the tender flesh on the side of his abdomen was harshly forced between her thumb and index finger. He'd felt her poking him, but he'd chosen to ignore it. And now she'd pinched him. She'd pinched him and it'd hurt. She'd pinched him and he'd woken from a relatively peaceful sleep. She'd pinched him, and she'd woken him and now he was pissed off.

"What, Abby, what do you want?" he growled, more angrily than he'd intended.

"It's freezing, McGee," was her simple response and he no longer felt the twinge of regret he'd felt for snapping at her. She was trapped in his apartment, in his bed because of a damn nor'easter and she'd felt the need to wake him up painfully to state an obvious fact.

"Well, maybe if you'd kept your pants on, you wouldn't be so cold," he replied sarcastically. He was grumpy and she knew this. He had never been a morning person, nor a middle of the night person. Unless she was offering something more appealing than an obvious fact. In those instances, he wasn't usually so cranky.

She tried not to read into his statement, but it was difficult not to. Was he grumpy because it was cold? Was he angry with her because she'd woken him up? Or was his general tone derived from the fact that he remembered her choice of apparel? She hated that her analytical brain could drive her such thoughts and that each of them could race through her brain at lightning speed as she attempted a rebuttal.

"McGee, I'm serious. Pants or no pants, something is wrong here. I can see my breath when I'm talking to you. Look. Are you looking? McGee! You're not even looking!"

"No, Abby, I'm not looking," he sighed. "Because I'm trying to sleep. Here, just take some more covers and shut up," he pleaded, as he pushed aside a section of his large down comforter. He was exhausted from several things: his long day at work, the trek to and from the Chinese place, arguing with Abby, writing and finally being plagued by reminiscences of their relationship as he attempted to fall asleep with her by his side. He was not interested in how cold she seemed to think it was, although the more that he stayed awake, the more he noticed the chill in his toes.

He hadn't seen the determined scowl that had crossed her face as he ignored her pleading, but he assumed it was there. He knew her better than she knew herself and he knew that when she was determined, when her mind had one set course, there was no derailing her. She'd fight to prove her point til she was satisfied, and Tim knew that throwing some blankets at her, wasn't going to make her let up. He only wondered, dazed by exhaustion, what exactly he could do to appease her.

"What about Jethro?" she asked.

"What about him," McGee mumbled, almost inaudibly into his pillow. "He's a dog. Fur coat. He's good."

"He should come sleep in here with us," she stated, very matter of factly. It was as if she'd already made up her mind, and Tim knew she had, but this one he was willing to fight her on.

"Forget it. If he sleeps up here, I'll end up on the floor." McGee replied, knowing that above all else, his large and loyal best friend loved to stretch out. He knew that Jethro would burrow himself between the two of them, outstretch his paws, which would press nearly painfully against his back, causing him to shift over on the bed until he had an inch of space. One turn, one toss and he'd get up close and personal with his floor. Judging by the serious chill that was now making its way up his legs, from his toes, his very cold wood floor.

"Fine by me," she smiled. He didn't respond, instead stayed in the same position: lying on his side, with his back to her, just as he had been before she'd woken him. She gave it a few moments before persisting. "McGee!"

Fed up with her pestering, he finally turned to face her in the darkness. "What? He's not sleeping in here. He's on a flannel bed that's probably warmer than this bed, what would you like me to do?"

"At least give him a blanket. Who knows how cold it is in the other room. Did you shut the windows?" she asked.

"No, Abby, I didn't. I thought about it, but then I thought, I'd really like my living room to have that North Pole kinda feeling." He replied, the sarcasm evident in his tone.

She furrowed her brow. "Right, dumb question."

"Ya think?"

"McGee, come on! At least give him a blanket! Please? Please Timmy? For me?" she pleaded. He could see her sporting the puppy dog eyes that he used to tell himself he could resist. She was the only woman who could conjure up such feelings of contradiction within him. On the one hand, she was annoying the hell out of him but on the other she was absolutely adorable while doing it. Part of him wanted to kill her, part of him wanted to kiss her. But ultimately, he and she both knew what he ended up doing.

"Fine, Jethro gets a blanket. But I only have one extra, so you sure you wanna do this? Its him or you Abs," In actuality, it was a blanket big enough for two, so he could have said him or us, and as his feet hit the freezing cold hardwood floor, he nearly rescinded his offer. She really had been right; it was beyond cold. He let out a sharp hiss as the chill shot up his legs.

"Him. And I told you ," she responded snuggling deeper into the blankets that she now occupied alone. She pulled them tightly around herself, nestling into the warmth that emanated from his side. She closed her eyes and inhaled the familiar scent of the covers, a scent that once used to lull her to sleep.

McGee quickly gathered the blanket from the top shelf of his closet, and made his way out of the darkened bedroom. Since she'd woken him, his eyes had adjusted enough to be able to avoid obstacles like shoes, and the now empty popcorn bowl. Jethro's head popped up from his deep slumber at the sound of the bedroom door opening and McGee immediately felt guilty for waking the dog.

"Shh, Jethro, its okay," he said soothingly, even though the animal wasn't at all agitated. If anything, he was simply confused as McGee draped the cotton blanket around him. Tim could tell, as he gently patted the dog's head that Abby had been right, and that Jethro did need the extra warmth. McGee continued tucking him in, as if he were a child, and whispered to him as he did so. "I know, boy. I know you're cold, but here you go. Nice and warm. Good boy. And I'm sorry I woke you, but it was all Abby." Jethro looked at his owner, confused and simply put his head back down.

"I heard that McGee," came the voice from right behind him.

"Abby! What are you doing out of bed? It's freezing!" he exclaimed, as he glanced up to see her standing in the doorway.

"Uh, duh McGee, I was the one who told you that remember?" she replied rolling her eyes. She quickly focused her attention on Jethro, who was now lying peacefully on his side.

"Are you sure he shouldn't sleep with us?" she questioned but if there was one thing that Tim stood firm on, it was his original answer, especially now that he knew just how cold the floor actually was.

"Abs, he's fine. Look at him." And she did. And Tim looked at her as she looked at Jethro and he felt that familiar lump in his throat.

It had first made its way there when he had seen that she'd taken to the closet to find the shirt that meant so much to him, to them both. And as he looked at her, he felt that lump rise up again. He couldn't tell if it was the fact that she was bathed only in the glow of the raging storm outside. That the odd effects of the dark yet light sky beyond the window made her skin seem like the most brilliant alabaster he'd ever seen when offset by the ebony hair that framed her face. He didn't know if it was the smallest hint of a smile playing on her lips, a smile that he could only equate to a child completely content in their surroundings. He finally decided that it was her eyes. Her eyes, that showed no signs of the slightest hint of discomfort as she stood, barefoot on a freezing hardwood floor wearing only a shirt, but instead showed love. Looking at the animal that she had rescued, that she had laid her career on the line for, Abby was all of the things that Tim had ever thought her to be: amazing, beautiful, kind-hearted and gentle.

He snapped out of his reverie, and simply smiled at her. "Now come on, back to bed before,"

"I know, before I freeze," she interrupted attempting to finish his sentence.

"Actually, I was gonna say before I leave you out here with Jethro and take my blankets all to myself," he smiled, wrapping an arm around her. She smacked his chest, playfully.

"That blanket is big enough for two, you know."

* * *

_I could have kept going, but if I did I would have cliff hangered you guys, and you guys would have hung me. It's coming soon I promise. And reviews make it come faster! :) _


	7. Chapter 7

The chill that had made its way through the apartment through closed windows had moved swiftly since it had awoken Abby. In the few minutes that she and McGee had been gone from his bed, all warmth had vanished from the sheets that they'd laid in only moments before. They'd been quick to scurry back after tucking Jethro in, he breathing in quick succession and her, with chattering teeth only to be met with nearly ice cold Egyptian cotton.

Abby yelped. McGee hissed. And each of their own accord made the decision within milliseconds that the others arms would be the only solace they'd find from the cold.

He gathered her into his embrace without thinking twice, and she nuzzled against him, choosing not to wrap her arms around him, but to instead keep them tucked to her chest. He quickly went to work rubbing her arms with rapid strokes to warm her, hoping that the actions would provide some heat for him as well.

They did and he made the mistake of thinking about it.

Thinking about how he'd done this once when the power went out years ago, but they'd been in her coffin. Thinking about how he always rubbed her arms this way during the winter when they'd stop and get hot chocolate before embarking on a long walk in the park. Thinking about how he'd been lying to himself by thinking he didn't want to do this every damn night for the rest of his life. As he thought about it more, his rapid strokes slowed to the point where she noticed enough to bring her eyes to meet his. And she'd known exactly what he was thinking.

He wasn't just trying to warm her up anymore. Somehow in the past minute, Timothy McGee had forgotten all about the cold air surrounding himself and his ex-lover. She knew how fast his mind worked and she knew that he was finally realizing what she had been feeling all night, whether she'd wanted to admit it or not. As they lay together under chilled sheets in a freezing room in the middle of the blizzard, they felt the same thing.

Longing.

And as fast as his heart had led him to the conclusion, his brain led him back away from it. He quickly smiled and said, "Warmer now right? Night Abs!" However, she had no chance to answer as he released her from his embrace and flipped over so quickly the bed practically bounced. As his head hit the pillow, he tried to steady his breathing and he shut his eyes tightly, as if the lack of vision would blind his feelings for her at that moment.

"McGee, what the hell?" she questioned, infuriated that he'd released his embrace. She tried telling herself that her anger was simply based on the fact that she was still cold.

"What?" he asked, almost innocently. "Still cold?" He still hadn't turned to look at her.

"And the understatement of the year, goes to Timothy McGee. I can't feel my toes, turn back over." _And hold me the way you did before._

"Me turning over isn't going to help your toes much at all Abs," he quipped. Yep, just like that, he told himself. The light bickering would get him right back in the friend zone and all would be well, as long as he avoided physical contact with her for the rest of the night. Of course, he had no idea how long the rest of the night was.

Abby was having none of the bickering. She knew him like she knew major mass spec. She knew exactly what made him tick, she knew how he processed results and she knew exactly the combination of elements she needed to put in to get exactly what she wanted. And she knew that she wanted what she'd just had, his arms around her and her head on his chest.

"Oh my God McGee. Did you just roll over to avoid kissing me?" she questioned, with a hint of glee in her voice.

If he could have crawled under a rock at that moment in time he would have, but he knew Abby and any hesitation on his point to answer would only result in persistent pestering.

"What?! No." He tried to tell himself he sounded convincing, but he also tried to tell himself that his voice always registered in that octave.

"You totally did!" she exclaimed. Mostly, she didn't believe it. She was only doing this so he'd roll back over and snuggle her the way he had been before. He was nothing if not determined to prove someone wrong, and there was no better way that she could think of to do so. By her calculations, he'd flip in 5…4…

…3…2…

The final second came and went with absolutely no movement from Tim. Instead he just lay there, quietly. Somehow the silence overwhelmed both of them, and as she was about to crack a joke, she felt the bed dip slightly as he turned over. His eyes locked with hers and she found herself unable to speak, something that rarely happened to her.

"What if I did?" he asked, almost hesitantly his eyes moving from hers to her lips.

He can't be serious, she thought. The same man who had practically ignored her all night, who had argued with her about her choice of apparel, had been thinking about kissing her. It was incredulous. That wasn't who they were anymore. That wasn't who they'd been in quite sometime.

Yet she was still wearing that shirt and he was looking at her with a gaze that she couldn't define.

She hadn't even fully uttered the first syllable of his name before his lips were resolutely pressed against hers. Within seconds her hands were firmly against his chest while her heart battered her own violently. His mouth was so pliant, curving against hers in the most perfect of fits and the moment he felt her hands travel towards his shoulders, he deepened the kiss. Her mouth opened and let him in, her mind telling her that this was what she'd wanted all along. However right it may have been, all she wanted was to ignore it. All she wanted was to get lost in the moment, and as his tongue moved gently against her own, everything was all but forgotten.

He had no idea what he was doing, but he knew it had felt amazing. Subconsciously, he'd known that this was what he'd wanted since he'd seen her in his shirt and as he pressed her deeper into the mattress, and she responded by grabbing a fistful of his hair, he knew she wanted it, too. As they fell back into their routine of year's prior, it was as if nothing had changed, though in actuality nearly everything had. His lips made his way to her neck, tracing kisses along her jaw line on their way and he heard her breath coming in short gasps. He knew she'd missed this as much as he had. He smiled against her skin as he realized that his mouth was within mere millimeters of a spot that she had always found to be particularly arousing. His hands moved along her body, as his lips latched on and sucked hungrily. She gasped and he couldn't help but smirk knowing that after all their time apart, he still knew how to push her buttons.

"Stop smirking McGee," she demanded, her eyes closed as she reveled in the sensation that his fingertips were eliciting through the thin material of the shirt that she loved so much. She knew that he was feeling empowered with the responses he was causing, as he always had. He'd choose a specific spot of hers, drive her crazy and when she'd finally look at his face, a smirk would be present. A smirk that said all the unbelievably cocky and macho phrases that he would never utter aloud. Other men would ask her if she liked that, or worse they'd tell her that they knew she did. They'd tell her that if she wanted more, she'd beg for it. They'd make her feed their egos before continuing to please her.

But not Timothy McGee. He'd simply smirk with the knowledge that she enjoyed what he was doing to her. She never had to tell him, he'd never make her praise him and he'd never ask if what he was doing was making her happy. He'd always known the answer. He hadn't ever had to look for clues by listening to her moans or whimpers of delight. He didn't need to look at her to see the glazed over look she got in her eyes whenever he was focused on something that felt amazing. He'd just always known what made her happy, even from the beginning. It was never about him being satisfied with being able to please her. He was as unselfish in the bedroom as he was everywhere else in his life. To him, it was just about pleasing her. And as far as she was concerned, if he could make her feel the way she was feeling at that moment, if she could feel as if every cell in her body was alive and on fire in the most pleasurable of ways, he could smirk like that for the rest of his damn life.

* * *

Neither knew how much time had passed as they made love to the sounds the fierce blizzard raging just outside. They'd each been too focused on feeling one another and getting reacquainted in a way that they both refused to admit had taken far too long. The chill in the room that had originally brought their bodies together was long since forgotten and unnoticeable as they moved together in unison, each growing increasingly desperate for a release and when it finally came, they both knew what it had been. It had been more than just a release of biological urges. It had been more than two ex-lovers hooking up again. It had simply been…amazing.

Abby lay atop McGee, their bodies still joined, trying to steady her breathing. He swallowed audibly, before panting a few times. He couldn't recall if they'd ever been that intense, that connected. He didn't speak his thought, and he had no idea that Abby was wondering the exact same thing as he held her in his arms. Had it always been like that? Neither dared ask the question, but finally, he spoke.

"You okay?" It seemed almost inane to ask such a question, seeing as how he'd both heard and felt her response earlier, but it was all he could manage.

"Mmm hmm," she mumbled against his chest. She was exhausted, and not at all surprised at that.

He gazed down at her and couldn't help but smile. Her face was flushed, her lips swollen, and her hair wild. It had been forever since he'd seen her like this, their previous activities being the only things that ever caused this appearance. And it was exactly as he recalled it. It had been one of those things that he'd inadvertently memorized about her. He knew other things of course, like which forms of mold she found to be the most beautiful and what caliber of bullet was her favorite, but of the things he'd committed to memory about her, the way she looked after they'd made love was always his favorite.

"It's definitely been a while since we did that, huh?" he commented, nonchalantly. His hands traced lazy circles against her back, still clothed by his shirt. It managed to be unbuttoned, but never fully removed.

"Mmm hmm," she repeated. Sleep was so close and the way he was rubbing her back was only pushing her further towards its brink. She knew she couldn't lay the way she was much longer, it had to be uncomfortable for him but she knew he'd never let on. There'd been nights when they'd fallen asleep, bodies entangled in the most awkward positions but he'd never move. He'd sooner wake up with a backache than disturb her, and while she wanted to be appreciative, she hated seeing him in pain. But they'd have another wild night and fall asleep wrapped in an embrace, and the next morning he'd limp to the kitchen or the bathroom. She'd call him out on it, but he'd simply ask, "Did you sleep well?" She'd respond either vocally or with a nod, and he'd sigh and say, "That's all that matters then."

She knew she couldn't do that tonight, so she resigned herself to leaving the warmth and comfort of his arms and the amazing feeling of their two bodies joined as one. She sighed and pushed herself upwards, black hair cascading wildly and framing her face.

"Abby, wait…" he said quietly. She was too dazed to notice what he was doing at first, but as her weight grew heavier against her arms she felt his deft fingers at work. The same fingers that had stroked, squeezed and grabbed at her were now making quick work of the buttons on the shirt she wore. He was done before she even registered what was happening and she just stared at him when she realized that he buttoned the shirt that never made its way completely off of her body.

"Don't want you to catch cold," he smiled. She reciprocated the smile and returned her head to his chest, bodies still completely entangled.

She'd move in a minute.

* * *

Hours later, when they'd finally parted after a second foray into their past habits, they had untangled themselves from each other and resigned to their separate sides of the bed. They slept soundly, the best rest that either of them had had in months. Until the room was bathed in the light of the bedsides lamps and the glow of the TV screen; a glow that was shortly accompanied by the blood curdling scream of a co-ed about to meet her demise.

Abby and McGee bolted up at the sound, adrenaline coursing through their veins as they adjusted to not only the lights and noise, but as they slowly realized what was going on. Once she had a firm grasp on the situation, Abby threw herself back down on the bed and covered her head with her pillow. McGee fumbled and questioned her as to where she put the remote.

"I don't know, McGee. That was like 5 hours ago," she argued, her voice muffled through the pillow. After less than 5 more seconds of the creepy score of music, she demanded, "Just shut it off, McGee!"

"I'm trying," he retorted, finally throwing off the covers and walking over to his TV. Rather than shutting it off, he reached down and unplugged the surge protector from the wall. As he came within close contact of the floor, he noticed the massive amount of popcorn that had been scattered over it.

"Abby, what the hell? There's popcorn everywhere!"

"Tim, would you please just shut up and go back to bed. Come on, it's already," she glanced to her right to see the alarm clock flashing bright red numbers that hurt her eyes. "Twelve AM apparently."

"Yeah digital clocks don't reset themselves, Abs. And food scattered on the floor of my apartment doesn't clean itself up either," he muttered. As he bent over to pick up more of the popcorn, he was thankful that he'd slipped on a pair of boxers and a t-shirt. He retreated out of his bedroom, heading to toss the kernels in the kitchen garbage rather than have Jethro fish them out of the one in the bathroom. On his way back, before shutting the light, he checked on his beloved pet.

"Do you need to go out?" he asked the dog. Jethro looked up at him with sleepy eyes for about two seconds before closing them and attempting to go back to sleep. "Good answer."

When he returned he noted that Abby had already shut her lamp on her side of the bed. And as he climbed in next to her and turned off his own light he thought to himself just how easy it had been to refer to his possessions as "hers." He lay there for a moment, simply watching her sleep. She was on her side, facing away from him, with one hand tucked beneath her pillow. He smiled and tried not to let himself get caught up in how right this all felt. It had felt right since she walked out of the bathroom dressed in his sweats. And now, with everything behind them, he couldn't help but feel that maybe this was the opportunity they needed to start over. He smiled happily and moved closer to her. He wrapped an arm around her waist and interlaced his fingers with hers that had been resting just in front of her stomach.

It was perfect. They could easily start over. All he needed to do was breech the subject.

He placed a feather light kiss at the base of the spider web tattoo on her neck and whispered her name sweetly against her skin. But Abby knew him like a book. She knew what he was thinking, she knew what he was doing and she knew what he wanted to talk about.

"Don't," she muttered firmly into the pillow.

Her harsh, albeit muffled tone made him shift. "Excuse me?" he asked, his voice echoing the confusion and annoyance that he was feeling. She didn't move. She simply remained where she was and answered.

"I know what you're thinking and I know what you're doing, and don't. Just don't." She replied, a little less harshly. And while her tone may have changed, his demeanor didn't.

"Uh, okay Abby. What exactly am I thinking and what was I doing? Because what it seemed like to me was that I just kissed your neck and you told me not to," he said as he untangled his fingers from hers. She immediately missed the warmth, but she didn't let on. She rolled over to face him.

"No, you didn't. You kissed my neck and said 'Abs.' And it wasn't a fun, playful 'Abs' which you were trying to make it seem like it was, but it wasn't. It was a 'we need to talk about this Abs,' and my answer is no, we don't need to talk about it."

This was not what he intended when he got back into bed with her. He should have known that she'd be on to him. She could read him like one of major mass spec's reports. There was no hiding when it came to her; she knew him too well. But it didn't stop him from trying to lie his way out of it.

"Abby, I wasn't trying to talk about anything. I just wanted to…be close to you," he answered.

Her eyes softened. "Timmy, that's so sweet. But we both know it's a load of crap."

"Abby!" he practically shouted. Part of that had been the truth. He did want to be close to her, but the other half…she was right about that.

"You were going to analyze what happened tonight. It's what you do. You analyze. You always have." She explained.

"This coming from the woman whose job description can basically be boiled down to analysis." He retorted.

"Yes, my _job_ Timmy. Not my sex life. Do me a favor and don't go through what this meant in your head. Why can't it just be what it was," she asked. She moved closer to him. "What it is."

He looked into her eyes as her arms wrapped around his waist and he couldn't stop the words from coming out of his mouth.

"And what is it exactly?"

She wanted to be mad, but she couldn't. It was who he was. It was what he did. He analyzed things to a fault and she'd tried to stop him from forcing her to define their relationship in the past, but it never worked. Her lack of a definition and her inability to commit solely to him had caused them to split in the first place. So she gave him the only answer she could think of. She kissed him and then mumbled, "A random act of Valentine's day."

He knew she'd said the only thing that had popped into her mind and he knew that the kiss was merely a distraction. But, he fell for it every time. He smiled against her lips as she kissed him again, and he replied. "Well, this is definitely better than chocolate."

* * *

_Finally! I'm sorry and I have no excuses but much thanks to everyone who stuck with this and it's not done! I promise! I could have dilly dallied on this chapter, but I saw that RosesinJanuary totalled her car and needed some fluff. I hope this helped! I'll try and get the next one up faster. _


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